


i don't have a choice (but i'd still choose you).

by frostfall



Series: Cap-Iron Man Bingo: 2020 (Round 1) [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Developing Relationship, Fix-It, Insecure Tony Stark, M/M, Minor Bruce Banner/Thor, Minor Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Minor Carol Danvers/James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Mutual Pining, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pining Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23649958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostfall/pseuds/frostfall
Summary: There’s a name inked onto his chest, a name written in an all-too familiar scrawl. And it’s— It’s—Steve doesn’t realize his body is quaking until he’s tracing the tattoo with a shaky finger.Because of course that is the name etched into the skin. Like a brand, a reminder for everything he has done. An appropriate retribution.Anthony Edward Stark.(When Thanos snaps half of the universe away, he unknowingly leaves the other half with soulmarks.)
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Cap-Iron Man Bingo: 2020 (Round 1) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628029
Comments: 110
Kudos: 1069
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	i don't have a choice (but i'd still choose you).

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the prompt 'Soulmates' on my Cap-Iron Man Bingo card. 
> 
> Title comes from [Poison & Wine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNlxKH9Jtmc) by The Civil Wars.
> 
> Special thanks to [ishipallthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipallthings/) for being a fantastic beta and providing much-needed insight to help me finish this fic 🥰💙.

Steve doesn’t have time to mourn Bucky as he turns to ash.

Because his chest is on fire. 

Steve’s chest is on fire and he’s screaming and he’s falling to his knees. 

The pain is all-consuming, like he’s engulfed in the deepest parts of hell. In the haze of his frazzled mind, cries fill the air, echoing his pain.

And then it abruptly fades into a simmer, sizzling around his heart. 

Steve lays a palm over his chest. His heart beats steadily.

Somewhere behind him, someone says, “What the fuck was that?” He guesses it’s the raccoon.

God, a talking raccoon. A fucking talking raccoon.

“I don’t know,” someone else replies. A familiar voice. Natasha.

Steve’s heart skips. The warmth vanishes, as if it has never been there.

A part of him is tempted to rip his uniform off his chest just to see if there are any marks left behind.

But then he remembers.

Thanos. The Infinity Stones. 

Bucky. Sam. T’Challa. Wanda. Vision.

Gone. All of them.

“Oh god,” he breathes.

* * *

It gets worse when they return to the palace.

Steve shuts his eyes as he watches Okoye fall to her knees and the remaining Wakandans echo her anguish with their own cries. It’s too soon. A reminder of his mistakes.

The queen is pale and red-rimmed as she takes her place on her throne. Steve has never seen anyone look as regal as she.

“Rest,” Queen Ramonda says, sure and steady. “There is time for action later.”

Steve wants to argue, tell her that every second they spend resting is a waste. But then he sees the shadow falling over her eyes and thinks about the family she has lost.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says.

The queen smiles. It’s amazing how beautiful she is when she’s sad. Only one person could ever compete with her.

“So am I, Captain. So am I.”

* * *

The palace has always made Steve uncomfortable.

It’s a sight to behold, but it’s also too big, too regal, too empty. Not like home. Even the room he’s given makes him feel uncomfortable.

It’s times like these that Steve wishes Tony was here.

Tony always knows the right ways to distract him, knows when to fill the silence with words and when to step back when everything’s too much.

But Tony’s gone. Tony’s gone, disappeared into space, and Steve doesn’t know if he’s alive. Tony could be ash or alive but galaxies away and he wouldn’t even know. 

Steve had left him broken and bruised because he couldn’t see past his self-righteousness, his need to be right, his selfish need to keep both Tony and Bucky close.

His chest warms and aches and Steve remembers.

So he shuts the bathroom door behind him, strips down to his boxers, and meets his own blue gaze in the mirror.

There’s a name inked onto his chest, a name written in an all-too familiar scrawl. And it’s— It’s—

Steve doesn’t realize his body is quaking until he’s tracing the tattoo with a shaky finger.

Because of course that is the name etched into the skin. Like a brand, a reminder for everything he has done. An appropriate retribution.

 _Anthony Edward Stark_.

* * *

He locks himself in his room for three solid days.

He knows he should go outside. Plan. Help. Figure out a way to set things right.

But then he remembers the name etched into his chest and it aches and his chest aches and his heart aches and he just _aches_.

Steve spends his time under the covers and staring vacantly at the ceiling. Sometimes, he paces the floor until he collapses into a sobbing mess. A couple of times, he grabs the nearest breakable object and throws it across the room and watches it shatter.

The knocks on his door stop on the third morning.

On the fifth morning, Steve wakes to Natasha lounging on the armchair next to him, eyeing him with a cool expression.

“Pack your things,” she tells him curtly. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“To where?” he asks and cringes at his voice, hoarse due to disuse.

“Home.”

Steve blinks. “But the—?”

“The Accords?” Natasha interrupts. “The world doesn’t care about that right now.”

“Ross?”

“Gone.”

Steve doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“No one knows where they come from,” she continues. “Not Thor or Rocket. Not even Wong.”

Steve blinks because what would a rocket know anything? And who the fuck is—

“Rocket’s the raccoon,” she replies as if she read his mind. “Wong’s Strange’s friend. A wizard just like him.”

Blurry images come to mind, only seen through a screen. Steve wonders if Strange is still out there with Tony. If he’s keeping him safe. If he’s getting into the fights Steve and Tony would indulge in once upon a time, if he’s touching Tony the way Steve used to—

His heart clenches because Tony’s gone. Tony’s gone and he might not be coming back.

Coming home.

* * *

Once upon a time, he thought he was home.

And maybe it was. Once. Before he fucked things up.

Steve was the leader of the Avengers. He was surrounded by the fight, by the need to make the world better. He was a soldier, giving and being given orders to serve. He lived in a place where all his comrades were, where everyone was fighting the same fight as he was.

Just like seventy years ago. That was home to him.

But now as he stands in the empty hallway, he knows he’s got it all wrong.

Home is cringing at Vision and Wanda’s poor attempts at flirting across the kitchen island. Home is listening to Sam, Rhodey, and Natasha get into heated debates with beer cans in their hands. Home is watching Tony lean against the fridge as he nurses his eighth cup of coffee of the day. Home is nudging Tony’s feet off the coffee table during movie nights. Home is meeting Tony’s big brown eyes across the dining table and sharing another wide grin.

Home is Tony. 

Home is Tony who could be dead. Home is Tony, whose name is seared into his skin for god knows how long.

Steve lays a tentative hand over Tony’s bedroom door and wonders how he could ever think that home was a place.

* * *

Twelve days later and the world has finally found a name for the tattoos.

Soulmarks.

It seems appropriate, the majority of the public declares. The constant ache that everyone feels, only silenced when meeting those with their names on their breast. Their hearts longing for one another, needing to be whole. 

And then, they’re home. Complete.

Once upon a time, Steve would’ve found the idea of soulmarks astounding. Romantic, even. And the fact that Tony’s his soulmate would’ve made the whole thing a whole lot sweeter.

But then the Accords happened. And then Vienna. Leipzig. Siberia.

They’ve hurt each other. Steve had hurt Tony and he doesn’t think he could ever be forgiven for that.

Tony wouldn’t want him. Not after everything. 

Steve wouldn’t blame him for that.

* * *

Steve sits in an office that is familiar and not.

Familiar in that all his personal effects are exactly where he left them. The picture frames adorning the walls, the landline on his desk, the books tucked in his shelf. All untouched and covered in dust.

Unfamiliar in that there’s an opened box in his trash can and a crumpled ball of paper on his desk.

It’s his letter, sent a lifetime ago. Underneath his name, there’s something else written in a hasty scrawl.

_Fuck your non-apology, Rogers._

Steve wants to cry. Steve wants to throw it across the room. Steve wants to light it on fire.

Instead, he collapses into his chair, ignores the burning sensation in his chest, and pulls out his compass.

Kind eyes stare back at him. It brings no comfort.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers.

It isn’t the first time Peggy doesn’t offer a solution.

* * *

Steve may be pathetically lost but his friends aren’t.

Rhodey leads the relief efforts. Natasha conducts the search party for Fury and any other heroes missing in action. Everyone else helps in whatever capacity they can.

He feels terrible for not being able to help, hates the pitying and agitated looks he gets when they think he doesn’t notice. For being compromised.

Because if everyone else can lend a hand, if everyone can face the fact that their soulmate is gone, so could he.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost people,” Natasha snaps, cold and angry at the same time.

Once, he would’ve been startled into action just by her emerald glare. But his chest pulses and aches and Steve turns his back towards the door, shuts the curtains, and tries to fall asleep.

* * *

In the middle of the chaos, Pepper comes to stay.

“I just need to know,” she says as she clutches her suitcase, her eyes red and her hair in disarray.

The possessive part in him balks and snarls, _He’s mine. He’s mine, not yours. His name, his soul belongs to me and only me._

His tattoo pulses in agreement.

But then he thinks about a long time ago in a cold, cold bunker and swallows it down.

He has lost the right to love and be loved by Tony Stark. As if he ever had it in the first place.

“Of course,” he says, his jaw heavy and tight. “You’re welcome to stay.”

Pepper looks at him like he’s a stranger but steps inside without another word.

Steve hasn’t known her well. But one thing he knows for certain is she’s more perceptive than she has any right to be.

* * *

They say that when your soulmate dies, the tattoo turns red. Red as blood. Or at least that’s what the people whose other halves are dust see.

Steve takes little comfort in the fact that Tony’s name remains as black as ink.

That is, until he wakes one afternoon to his tattoo turning a dark mahogany.

* * *

On the seventeenth day since the Snap, help arrives in the form of a woman.

Carol Danvers is an enigma, one that Steve is unsure what to make of. She’s cool and curt and flies and _glows_.

But her eyes do light up at the fact that Captain America is alive and dims at the mention of Fury’s fate and she listens and interrupts and—

“What?” she demands, fiery and wary. She looks battle-ready and ready to prove. Like she’s done this one too many times.

Rhodey blinks, slow and languid. Then, he straightens.

“I’m James,” he says, looking the surest Steve has ever seen him. “James Rhodes.”

Carol’s eyes widen. The blaze in her eyes goes up in smoke.

Steve averts his gaze and pretends that he isn’t wishing that could’ve been him.

* * *

A millennium later, a breakthrough.

Tony looks haggard in the recording, halfway dead. Steve can attest to that. His tattoo is now a deep shade of wine.

In the recording, Tony jokes about Pepper putting the recording on social media, gushes about the blue woman he’s with, rambles about his impending death, which is something Steve would like to not think of and—

And… And Steve?”

He freezes before his eyes sweep around his friends. None of them seemed fazed or surprised, their eyes trained onto the recording in front of them.

Steve must be imagining things. His name was said so quietly, barely a murmur. There’s no way—

“Please know that... Even after everything… After everything has been said and done… No matter how much I— I—” Tony heaves a sigh before breaking into a short series of coughs. “Just know that when I drift off, I will think of you. Because it's always you. It’s always been you.”

It can’t be right. Why would he— Why would he even—

 _I’m losing my mind_ , he thinks hysterically before excusing himself to throw up in the confinement of his bathroom.

* * *

Carol leaves as soon as they get the coordinates. Steve decides to distract himself to do the one thing he should’ve done a long time ago.

“So,” Natasha begins teasingly, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, “you finally decided to shave it off. I’ll admit, the lumberjack look has grown on me.”

Steve sets his razor down. He should make a joke to lighten the mood. Or maybe tell her that she and Sam were right, that the lumberjack look is a fashion disaster.

“It’s him,” he says instead, hushed and afraid. “On my chest. His name.”

A shadow falls over Natasha. Steve turns the faucet on.

“Barnes is mine.”

Steve meets her gaze through the mirror.

Neither of them speaks until the ground rumbles.

* * *

As soon as Steve catches sight of Carol and the spaceship, he takes off.

He knows what it must look like to everyone else, especially to Pepper. But he doesn’t care because Tony’s back. 

Tony’s here and in his arms and his cheeks gaunt and his eyes glazed and god, Steve aches and longs. All of his body, mind, and soul aches and longs. Then, they settle.

Tony’s home. Tony’s home and alive and it’s everything Steve wants and needs.

Steve wonders if Tony knows. Oh, he must’ve definitely seen the name on his chest. There’s no way he couldn’t have seen it by now. 

Maybe he’s realized the implication of having his name or at least, have theories. He’s a genius, after all.

If he does, Tony doesn’t bring it up.

“I lost the kid,” he rasps out instead.

For a short second, Steve is blindsided because _since when did Tony have a kid_? But then he remembers a masked teenager from Queens and his heart sinks further.

“Tony,” Steve says and hopes his words bring comfort. “ _we_ lost.”

Tony stares. Steve feels himself shrinking into himself.

“Steve, I—”

And then, Pepper’s by their side and gathering Tony in her arms and Tony’s clutching her like she’s his lifeline and pecking her cheek and Pepper’s watching Steve and—and—

And Steve should’ve known better than to think that tattoos from god knows where would solve everything.

* * *

Ever since Siberia, there’s not a day that goes by that Steve hasn’t thought of their eventual reunion.

Most of the time, he’d imagine Tony throwing his hands up. Screaming and shouting. Telling him to never show his face again, to run and run and never come back. And no matter how much his soul screams, his tattoo burns, his heart aches, Steve would do it. Because he has to. Because Tony asked.

Sometimes, there’ll be a world-threatening emergency. Tony would stride towards him, battle-ready and eager to ignore the elephant in the room until they’re out of the woods. And even when they are, Tony might never bring it up. Or even worse, leave the Avengers for good.

A couple of times, he’d imagine falling to his knees, sobs racking his body. Tony would fall with him, gentle and warm and provide the absolution he doesn’t deserve.

In reality, Tony throws his hands up. Tony does scream and shout.

And fuck does Steve listen. Let the words sink in. It’s one thing to berate himself. But to hear Tony say it, to hear it from the one person he wronged, the one person he loves, the one person whose soul is intertwined with his, is another.

When Tony falls silent, Steve braces himself for the final cut, the order to leave and never return.

Tony grabs his wrist instead, slapping his arc reactor into his empty hand.

“You find him and you put that on,” he whispers, broken and tired. “You hide.”

Then, he falls.

Just like every single time, Steve can only watch, can only ‘almost’ reach for him instead of ‘in time’. 

That isn’t surprising. He’s never been good with time.

* * *

Tony’s fast asleep when they leave to find Thanos.

Steve’s soul longs to stay by Tony’s side, to hold him and never let go, to atone for every wrong and pain he inflicted onto Tony.

But Pepper’s hold on Tony is tight and Nebula’s glare is hard and Rhodey’s looking at him with outward disapproval. And Steve’s a coward and undeserving to be Tony’s soulmate so like the nothing he is, he leaves.

“This is gonna work, Steve,” Natasha says as they sit in the Guardians’ ship.

Steve doesn’t take his eyes off the picture in his compass. Once, it gave him comfort. The person in the compass gave him comfort.

But Peggy’s dead and not his soulmate and his thoughts are filled with another and everything is just a mess. 

Steve wonders what things would’ve been like if he never went down on that plane all those years ago. Would Peggy and him have worked out? Would Tony still have Steve’s name on his chest?

That is if Tony even has it in the first place.

Tony’s name pulses against his heart.

“I know it will,” he replies quietly, snapping the compass shut. “Because I don't know what I'm gonna do if it doesn't.”

* * *

It doesn’t work.

* * *

Steve dashes out as soon as the ship touches the ground.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t stop shoving and moving until he stops in front of the infirmary door.

Just like that, his brain catches up with him.

He shouldn’t go in. Not when Tony’s there. Not when he failed Tony. Again.

The door opens. Pepper steps outside.

“He’s awake.”

Steve’s lips part. Nothing comes out.

An exasperated sigh escapes her lips. She steps to the side.

Tony’s awake when he steps in. His eyes flash, heated and chilly at the same time.

Steve flexes his fingers. “Don’t—”

“The fuck are you doing here?” he demands.

“Tony—”

“Get out.”

“Tony—”

“I said, get out!” Tony screams and then gasps for breath.

Steve would’ve made a move to his side if Pepper and Rhodey haven’t rushed to Tony’s side.

Slow. As always.

“Hey, hey. Calm down, man. Just—”

“Get him out. Just—”

“Thanos is dead,” Steve blurts out.

Tony stills. Pepper does the same. Rhodey’s glare hardens.

“The Stones?”

“Destroyed.”

Tony flinches and Steve, once again, knows he’s made a mistake.

“Tony—”

“Steve,” Rhodey says firm and gentle all at once. “I think it’s best if you go.”

Steve’s lips part because he can’t just leave things this way. He can’t let Tony think that—

But then he sees the fire behind Tony’s eyes, Pepper’s hand in his and knows he doesn’t belong.

So he does what he does best.

He leaves, shutting the door behind him and slides to the ground as he listens to the sobs racking his soulmate’s body.

* * *

The next day, Steve pays Tony another visit. He gets shouted at until Tony collapses again.

As Steve watches Helen Cho tend to him, he couldn’t help but take Tony in. Take in how gaunt his cheeks are, how pale his skin is, how dark the eyebags under his eyelids are.

He’s seen Tony asleep a million times before, half of his body lying on his office desk, sprawled over his worn couch in the workshop, his head lolling to the side and finally resting on Steve’s shoulder.

As always, he looks adorable, exhausted, and serene at the same time. And as always, the urge to brush the stray locks falling over his eyes, the urge to rest his palm against his cheek, the urge to lean forward and—

Something ignites inside Steve and he tears his gaze away before he does something stupid.

What’s done is done.

* * *

“And?”

Steve shrugs. “And nothing.”

Natasha nods, squeezing his shoulder. “Give him time.”

He should. Fuck, he really should.

But Steve has always been a selfish bastard.

* * *

Each day, Steve pays Tony a visit and each day without fail, Tony throws him out.

Steve tries not to feel like his world isn’t crashing down around him. 

* * *

One by one, everyone leaves.

Rhodey, Carol, Nebula, and Rocket leave to help with the destruction Thanos has left in his wake. Natasha checks in with them often. Thor disappears without a trace. So does Bruce. No one can get a hold of Clint.

Steve just sits next to Tony, neither of them breathing a word.

His soul is both at and not at peace. Steve’s adamant Tony feels the same.

* * *

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

Steve glances up from the tablet in his grasp, his heart in his throat. “Do you want me to leave?”

Tony blinks, his gaze drifting down to the tablet. “I don’t know. You tell me. I know Nat’s been coordinating the relief efforts. You should be out there. Helping her.”

Shame and guilt washes over him. Tony’s name simmers under his shirt.

“Just go do something. Help. I know you think that standing here is some fucked up way of showing you care. But you don’t have to—”

“It keeps me sane.”

Tony startles. Steve’s jaw clenches. Neither of them looks away.

“I think you’ll go insane watching me go insane in this miserable room.”

“I won’t.”

“Not yet, at least,” Tony says wryly.

Steve huffs in spite of himself. A wisp of a smirk flashes over Tony’s lips.

It’s a start.

* * *

Somehow, Tony manages to reduce Steve’s time in the infirmary from eighteen hours to two hours.

“I’m not saying you can’t visit me,” he says. “You can. But we both know we have better places to be and better things to do with our time than mope around or haunt the corridors.”

There’s a tablet in his grasp, screening a blue hologram resembling an Iron Man suit. Steve wonders who’s retrieved the tablet from Helen’s custody this time. He bets it’s Natasha.

“She told you?”

Tony snorts. “I know you, Steve Rogers. I don’t need Nat telling on your ass to know you’re not yourself. I’m fine. Fucked up. But fine. But there are other people who need you, Cap. People who need Captain America.”

Steve blinks, not knowing what to say to that. So all he does is get to his feet and leaves.

He doesn’t don red, white, and blue, search for his shield, and drop in on the first suspicious character he finds. He helps clear the ruins and destruction. He helps Natasha in coordinating the team. And when he can, he goes out and keeps the people and places safe from criminals in Nomad’s name.

For the first time in forever, he feels like himself again. Not the Captain he’s been masquerading as the moment he put on the cowl all those years ago. But Steve Rogers, the skinny brave kid from Brooklyn who just wants to lend a hand.

“Of course. Only Tony could convince you to get your head out of your ass,” Natasha remarks when Steve brings this up during one of their morning runs. “He’s your soulmate, after all.”

* * *

Steve gets his hair cut.

“Looking good, Rogers,” Tony says when Steve steps inside. 

He almost trips over his own feet.

* * *

There isn’t a day that goes by that Steve doesn’t think that maybe, just _maybe_ Tony isn’t meant to be his. After all, Steve was meant to die in the ice. The name etched into Steve’s skin might be Tony’s name, Tony’s handwriting. It doesn’t mean that the name on Tony’s skin is Steve’s.

He could easily picture it. It’ll be the exact scrawl he knows all too well, burned into Pepper’s porcelain skin because Pepper’s strong and beautiful and will never hurt Tony like Steve has done in a million years. 

And she’ll stay. She might’ve left a couple of times before. But she’ll continue to stay.

Or at least that’s what he thought.

“You’re leaving?”

She nods, clutching her suitcase. “I have to. I’ve stayed long enough. Someone has to go back and make sure SI doesn’t go up in flames. The stakeholders— Well, what’s left of the stakeholders have been calling me and—” She exhales. “I think you should talk to him.”

“Pepper—”

“It’s not me. I’m not his soulmate.”

Steve freezes.

“Talk to him,” she murmurs before continuing on her way, her heels clacking against the marble flooring.

* * *

They don’t talk about it when Steve visits. 

Every time he steps inside, he meets those big brown eyes and remembers a man he has done wrong. A man he doesn’t deserve no matter what Thanos or the stones or fucking fate says because he’s a coward.

Instead, Steve feeds him updates on what he’s been up to or the team.

He tries his best to only tell him about the good stuff. About Nebula and Rocket’s wacky misadventures in space, about Okoye helping Queen Ramonda rebuild Wakanda to its former glory, about Natasha finding a new lead on Clint’s whereabouts.

Once, he accidentally brings up Carol and Rhodey’s blossoming romance. But all he gets is a short laugh and a story about how Tony had woken up to Carol and Rhodey making out.

As Steve watches Tony purse his lips, he wonders what it must be like to kiss Tony Stark for the hundredth, thousandth, millionth time. 

* * *

“Bruce’s finally made contact,” Steve says. “He’s with Thor. They’ve found the rest of the Asgardians and are trying to find a place to settle.”

Tony snorts. “Of course he’s with Thor.”

Steve cocks an eyebrow. Tony gives him a knowing look and what’s that supposed to— Oh.

 _Oh_.

* * *

One rainy afternoon, he pulls out a box of memories and places Peggy’s photograph inside.

Some things are meant to be left behind.

* * *

On the day Tony’s deemed fit to leave the infirmary, he shuts himself in his workshop.

Steve’s determined to march downstairs, to haul him away because he’s still weak and exhausted and fuck, he probably needs at least two more weeks until he could actually walk and how could Helen just let him—

“He needs it,” Natasha says when she chances upon him in front of the workshop door.

“But—”

“I know,” she sighs, crossing her arms. She slides to the floor next to him and pulls him into a one-armed hug. It brings little comfort. “I know.”

* * *

Sometimes, he stays up and replays everything in his mind. Of Bucky’s anguish murmur as he crumbles into dust, of the fire burning in his chest, of the screams he hears as he collapsed.

Other times, he pulls up videos of people all over the world crumbling and burning and screaming and collapsing. Of the list of people he lost.

It keeps him sane.

This is how Tony finds him – at two in the morning nursing a mug of cold coffee watching the citizens of New York vanish for the millionth time.

“You should be asleep,” Tony says, his own steaming mug in hand.

It’s blue, the shade of azure. Emblazoned with the Captain America shield. Steve doesn’t know what to make of that.

“You should too.”

“I have things to do, Cap. They can’t wait.”

Steve sighs, swiping the feeds away. “Tony—”

“Just a couple more minutes. I swear—”

“Tony. You need sleep. It can wait tomorrow.”

“But—”

Steve gets to his feet, pries the mug out of Tony’s grasp, and holds out a hand.

“Come to bed,” he murmurs.

The gaze he gets is full of fear. Of pain. Of conflict.

Tony takes his hand.

* * *

Steve’s pictured this happening more often than he should.

Most times it’ll be the end of a perfect first date. Sometimes, it’ll be after Movie Night or Game Night or one of Tony’s binges in the workshop.

But it’ll all end the same way. He’d be laughing at a joke Tony’s making as he walks him to his room. Then when they’re in front of it, Steve would brush his lips on his cheek and tell Tony he wants to do it again.

“Goodnight,” Steve says and pretends it’s a beginning and not the aftermath of a tragedy.

Warmth curls around his wrist.

“Stay,” Tony whispers.

The soulmark burns.

* * *

It becomes a routine – they wake, share breakfast, and then part to do what they need to do. But when the sky’s dark and clock strikes twelve, they fall into bed together.

Tony’s bed is large enough for them to stay on their own side of the bed. And yet when the sun rises, every inch of them is intertwined.

Like they’re drawn to each other. Like their souls have finally decided that—that—

No one brings it up. 

* * *

Clint winds up on their doorstep. Natasha and him both shed tears.

It’s a happy day all around.

* * *

“I should punch you,” Rhodey begins as soon as the rest leave the room, “for everything you’ve done to Tony. The only reason why I haven’t is because we had more important things to deal with and Tony—”

“His name’s on my chest.”

Rhodey doesn’t seem perturbed. “I figured. If I were him, I wouldn’t have taken you back. Hell, I would’ve filed a restraining order or some shit. Soulmate or not.”

“What if Carol—”

“She wouldn’t have,” Rhodey snaps.

Steve flinches. He understands why a lot of people don’t cross James Rhodes.

“How’re things? How’s Carol?”

Rhodey blinks, the fire extinguished. “Good. She’s good. We’re thinking of dropping by soon but we haven’t figured out a date.” He sighs, wiping his face. “Tell him. Or I’ll tell him myself.”

* * *

“Hey, did you— Oh.”

Steve freezes, his tank top halfway on. The tattoo tingles.

“Pep told me about those…” Tony murmurs, his gaze still pointed on his name, his handwriting. “And I’ve read up on it. You know. Those things. Soulmarks.”

Steve tenses.

“I’m yours.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his fingers digging into his jeans. His ears catch the sharp intake of breath.

“You’re mine.”

Something blooms inside him. Something soft and light and foreign.

“Really?”

Tony snorts. “Does it look like I know any other Steven Grant Rogers?”

Steve shrugs his shoulders, pulling the hem down and finally covering Tony’s name. “It’s a pretty generic name. And you know a lot of people and—”

“And do you think any of them have ‘Anthony Edward Stark’ on them?”

Steve stills. “No. Guess not.”

“Of course not.” Tony scoffs. “God fucking damn. I’m Captain America’s soulmate. Jesus. Wonder what dear old dad would think?”

“I’m not Captain America,” Steve replies lamely. “Haven’t been for a long time.”

“Yeah. Nomad.” Tony arches an eyebrow. “What? You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to? The beard was hot, by the way. The whole lumberjack look was sexy. Shame you shaved it off. Would’ve loved to see it in person.”

Steve lets a smile grace his lips, his heart in his throat and his brain reduced to mush.

That’s not out of the ordinary. Tony always seems to make him feel this way. Not Captain America. Protector of the common people.

Just Steve. The wide-eyed kid from Brooklyn.

That’s not a terrible thing. 

* * *

Nothing much changes after that. They still wake, share breakfast, and then part to do what they need to do. And when the sky’s dark and clock strikes twelve, they’d still fall into bed together.

But when Steve can, he leaves meals for Tony down in the workshop. In return, Tony lets Steve keep him company when Steve has the time.

They don’t talk when they’re in the workshop. Tony’s too busy with his work and Steve’s too focused on his own work and sketches and babysitting Tony’s bots.

Somehow, Steve feels lighter than he has felt in a long time, even more, when he watches some sparkle return to Tony’s eyes as the holograms dance before them.

* * *

“Huh.”

Steve cocks an eyebrow. “Something you want to tell me?”

Clint shakes his head, smirking as he twirls his arrow between his fingers. “Just finding it weird how domesticity suits Captain America.”

He groans. “I’m not—”

“Uh huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Steve flings his pen at his head. Clint catches it with ease.

* * *

One night, the dam breaks.

“You were right,” Steve whispers into the dark. “About everything. About me being a liar. For not trusting you. For breaking up the team.”

Next to him, Tony goes still.

“I fucked up. And I know apologies won’t change what happened—”

“I know what I said before,” Tony replies quietly. “And there’s a huge part of me that still believes in that. But I didn’t give you any reason to trust me either. Ultron—”

“Ultron wasn’t just you,” Steve says and Tony flinches. “Bruce helped you. And Wanda. She’s at fault too.”

“I mean, she was just a kid.”

“Who messed with our minds,” Steve counters. “Just because she’s young doesn’t mean she gets a free pass. She really messed us up.”

Tony starts, sitting upright. “Who are you and what have you done to Steve Rogers?”

Steve lets out a breathy laugh. “I had a lot of time to do some introspection as a fugitive.”

“Did you now?”

“Mm hmm.”

Tony snorts. “I broke the team too, you know. It isn’t just you. I fucked up too. And I’m sorry for that.”

“That wasn’t personal,” Steve says softly. “I broke _both_ the team and your trust. I fucked everything up.”

“We’re not playing the Fucked Up Olympics, Steven.”

“ _Tony_.”

Tony doesn’t say anything for a long time, running his fingers through his hair. It’s not the first time Steve wonders what it’ll be like to have those fingers cradling his jaw, skimming down the side of his neck and shoulders, leaving goose bumps and tremors in their wake.

“I don’t hate you,” Tony says. “Not anymore at least. Turns out, resentment is corrosive and I hate it. We shouldn’t dwell on it anymore. There’s no point in dwelling. I forgive you.”

“I don’t deserve that.”

Tony’s gaze hardens. “Well, you don’t decide who I forgive. And I’m choosing to forgive you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve replies. Something tells him that Tony doesn’t believe him.

Later, he falls asleep feeling less troubled than he has in a long time.

* * *

The next time he ventures down to the workshop, Tony’s waiting with the shield in hand.

He almost drops the tray in his grasp and quickly sets down it on the nearest surface.

“Tony—”

“What?” Tony asks. “He made it for you. It’s yours.”

“I don’t deserve it. Not after—”

Tony kisses him.

It’s a brief brush but it leaves Steve’s soul open and his mark aflame.

“Take it,” his soulmate breathes against his lips.

“That’s cheating,” Steve chokes out but takes it anyway.

It plays in his mind the rest of the day. The fire, the touch, the what-ifs.

He should’ve kissed him sooner.

* * *

They don’t talk about it. That’s nothing new.

* * *

“Tony said the two of you are good,” Natasha says. “Are you?”

Steve almost rolls his eyes. “Less talking. More punching.”

Natasha bares her teeth and takes him down in twenty-four seconds.

* * *

Most nights they’re too exhausted and distressed to speak to one another. But when they’re not, they fill it with words of regrets. Of hopes and dreams.

Sometimes, they just break.

Tony doesn’t know how long he stays curled up, babbling his apologies over and over again until his throat is sore.

Through it all, Steve holds him. Strokes him. Soothes him.

And through it all, Tony says he doesn’t deserve anything from him. He doesn’t even deserve to be here. To be in Steve’s embrace and continue living when all his friends who’re much better than him are ash and—

“I’m sorry,” Tony finishes. “I’m so fucking sorry. I was late. I was too fucking—fucking—”

“Don’t be sorry,” Steve murmurs into Tony’s hair. It smells of grease and coffee. “ _We_ were too late.”

* * *

Occasionally, they get visitors.

They come in pairs. Soulmate pairs like Rhodey and Carol and Thor and Bruce. Or regular pairs like Nebula and Rocket.

Tonight, everyone’s schedules so happen to coincide. Which means the Compound is lively for the moment. 

It’s nice having everyone under one roof again. It feels like before. Before everything went to shit.

For a second, Steve could pretend that Sam has just excused himself to the bathroom and Vision and Wanda have decided to take their conversation and—

At some point between a screening of Star Wars and a silly game of Charades, Rocket busts out alcohol from some faraway planet. Thor, Carol, and Valkyrie declare to hold a drinking match between the three of them. 

Loudly. 

“So,” Rhodey begins, dropping onto the couch next to Steve, “I think congratulations are in order. For now.”

Steve raises his eyebrow and tries to fight off a smile. Across the room, Tony and Natasha share the loveseat, her legs propped on his lap as they chatter.

“I’m serious, Rogers. I’m not afraid of cutting off Captain America’s dick. And so is Carol. They’re practically best friends now. Joined to the hip. And let’s just say you don’t wanna cross her.”

Steve snickers despite himself. “Well, you two can go after Nat. She insists on going first. Also, is that jealousy I’m detecting in your voice, Rhodes?”

Rhodey barks out a laugh as he takes a swig from his bottle of beer. “Me? Jealous? Please. They both need more friends. Good ones. I’m glad they have each other.”

Somewhere in the distance, there’s the sound of glass breaking and laughter.

“Yeah. I’m glad too.”

Steve lifts his head up. At the same time, Tony turns to the side.

Just like that, everything falls away. All Steve sees is Tony.

* * *

_Fuck,_ Steve thinks as he watches Tony shuffle into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and tousled-haired, and drops onto the barstool between Natasha and Carol, _this really is home._

* * *

“Let’s go out.”

Steve startles, glancing up from his sketch. “Out?”

Tony shrugs as he wipes down his grease-stained hands. Steve averts his gaze, his cheeks warming. It’s a thought for later.

“You know. Out. Dinner. Don’t think I’ve been outside in a while.”

“Oh.” He rolls a question in his head and takes the plunge. “Just the two of us?”

“If you want.”

“Is it a date?”

Tony crosses his arms. “If you want.”

Steve blinks, slow and languid and says, “I do.”

* * *

“Nat?” Steve begins helplessly when she opens the door. “A little help?”

Like the good friend she is, Natasha just laughs and pushes him out of the way.

* * *

Tony takes him to a small Italian place in the heart of Brooklyn which is famous for its alfredo and cannoli and doesn’t hate the Avengers for not doing better.

“Peter would’ve loved this,” Tony’s saying, waving his fork around. “He used to complain about how he could barely…”

The smile slips off his face. Steve feels him slipping away.

“Tell me about him,” he says.

Tony quirks his lips to the side and tells. Tells him of the bright-eyed boy from Queens. Tells him of his intelligence and his enthusiasm and his desire to help. Tells him of the uncle he lost and the aunt he sees as his mother and the friends who he loves with all of his heart. 

What he doesn’t say is how much Peter adored Tony and how much Tony adored Peter in return. He doesn’t have to. It’s clear to anyone how much love there is in their relationship.

“You would’ve loved him,” Tony finishes behind his glass of water.

Steve smiles. “Yeah. I think I would’ve.”

* * *

“Goodnight,” Steve says and hopes it’s a beginning and not nothing.

Tony fists his collar and pulls him in.

The bond flares.

* * *

Steve’s fingers ghost his name and Tony shudders.

Tony kisses his name and Steve _burns._

It’s the best night of Steve’s life.

* * *

Of course, it’d be Natasha who finds them.

She doesn’t seem fazed at the sight of them tangled up in bed, sweaty and sated, when she utters the two words Steve never thought she’d say.

“Scott’s back.”

Steve freezes, his wrinkled T-shirt in hand. “What?”

“The cameras.”

Tony calls for FRIDAY. They stare at the feed for a long time.

“You sure this isn’t a recording?” Steve asks.

Natasha nods as she steps out. “I’m going to go let him in.”

Steve turns to Tony.

“C’mon,” he says with false cheer. Steve would’ve called him out on it if it isn’t for the genuine gleam in his eyes. “The universe won’t be saved if we keep sitting on our asses all day.”

* * *

Scott is manic when he spins a tale about quantum physics, and microscopic universes and shrinking and other stuff Steve can’t wrap his head around. And judging by the faces in the room, no one else does either. Except for Tony.

“So,” he begins, “you’re telling me that if we harness Pym’s tech, we could time-travel.”

Scott beams. “Exactly! Damn, maybe Hank was wrong about you.”

Tony snorts. “I don’t even know who the fuck Hank Pym is. What’s his beef with me?”

Scott launches into another ramble. This time, about some old man named Hank Pym. He sounds like a fucking asshole.

“How the fuck did Tony get all of that?” Clint hisses to Steve.

He shrugs his shoulders. Tony isn’t called a genius for nothing.

“Nat,” Steve begins. “Call everyone.”

* * *

The rest take the time-travel idea in their stride, albeit skeptically.

Rocket shrugs, echoing what seems to be the general consensus. “I mean, what else do we have to lose?”

Thor grins. “That’s the spirit, rabbit.”

Rocket looks ready to pounce if Nebula hasn’t grabbed him by the scruff.

“Great!” Scott exclaims, clasping his hands together. “So. To sum it all up, we’re gonna build a time machine and a gauntlet, go back in time, stop Thanos from getting his grubby fingers all over a bunch of magical stones, come back, and—”

“Or,” Rhodey interrupts, “we go back and kill the—”

“That’s terrible!” Bruce exclaims, aghast.

“It’s Thanos. Why the fuck would you even want to give that purple condom a chance to live?”

Tony, Rocket, and Clint guffaw. Bruce’s horrified expression remains. Carol beams proudly.

They argue and debate until Rocket scowls and says, “You two over there! Whispering to each other the whole goddamn time. Care to share with us what y’all got or what?”

Tony and Natasha pull away. There are grins plastered on their faces.

“You guys are gonna like this.”

* * *

It’s decided. They’ll return a day before the second Snap. When shockwaves covered Thanos’ planet.

The next several weeks are busy. Everyone returns from every corner of the universe, lending a hand and comprehensively planning and building.

Steve doesn’t see much of Tony during these times, swept up in his own tasks. It’s a small price to pay.

He’ll have Tony to himself at night. And when this is all over, during the day too.

* * *

“What’d you want to do when this is over?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.”

“C’mon. I’m sure you have something in mind.”

Steve takes a couple of seconds to ponder. “Probably learn to dance.”

Tony rolls onto his back, eyeing him with confusion. “You never took lessons even after all these years?”

Steve just shrugs.

Tony nods. “There’s a lot of classes out there. Or when we get Barnes back—”

“Or maybe— Maybe you could teach me.”

Tony stares at him like he’s grown four heads. “I’m a shit teacher.”

“Bullshit.”

“Language,” Tony says, smiling.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t get me side-tracked.”

“No. Really. I can’t—”

Steve shoves a pillow into Tony’s face. Things go downhill from there.

* * *

“Need any help?” Steve asks, poking his head inside the workshop.

Scott glances up. “We’re good, Cap! I mean, Captain. Rogers. Er—”

“Just call me ‘Steve’.”

“Or Spangles,” Tony chimes in. “Or Captain Handsome.”

Scott brightens at that. “Ooh, Captain Handsome. I like that.”

“I’m not—”

“Cap. Please. There’s no need to be modest. Don’t tell me you don’t look yourself in the mirror and think, ‘Good golly, I am one swell-looking fella’.”

Steve sighs. “Tony—”

“Oh god,” Tony says, pausing. “I just remembered. Remember that old suit Coulson put you in? Jesus, that suit did nothing for your ass.”

Steve feels his cheeks warm. “No one asked you to look, Tony.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“I think you looked great in that suit, Cap,” Scott pipes up. “Like I know I have a soulmate and all but as far as I’m concerned, you ass is definitely America’s ass.”

“You know what, Lang?” Tony begins, pointing at him with his wrench. “You just gave me an idea for Cap’s next access code.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “Tony, no—”

“FRIDAY, could you—”

“Tony—”

“—please—”

“Tony!”

Scott laughs in the background. Dum-E, U, and Butterfingers join in, whirling around in circles.

It almost feels like the good old days.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers for the millionth time into the night.

“I know,” Tony breathes into his neck, warm and sure.

Steve doesn’t doubt him. Tony, of all people, would know about grief and how all-consuming it is.

* * *

There are times when things are good. Light. Happy.

And then there are times when—

“Hurt him again,” Nebula hisses into his ear. “And I’ll skin you alive.”

Even as Steve watches her stomp away, he can’t help but feel the blade against his neck, sliding down to his chest and then lower and lower to his—

Rocket shrugs as he strides past Steve. “I’d do what the lady says if I were you. For your dick’s sake.”

Somewhere in the distance, he hears people cackle. It’s either Rhodey, Carol, or Natasha. Most likely all three of them.

* * *

As Tony takes him into his mouth, the only coherent thought of Steve’s is, _How could I ever think I could live without his touch?_

* * *

“Tony?”

“What?”

“Bedtime.”

A guttural groan.

“Tony—”

“Fine, you big baby.”

* * *

Then, it’s done.

Steve elects to go on the trial run. Tony volunteers as well. They argue about it behind closed doors.

“C’mon, Steve. You need help.”

“I don’t,” Steve insists. “It’s a test run for a reason.”

“A test run involving stealing Pym Particles from Camp Lehigh. Camp fucking Lehigh! I can’t just let you—”

“I can’t lose you!”

Tony flinches. 

“I can’t, okay. Not again. I’m not…” Steve squeezes his eyes shut, fighting away the tears. “I’m not strong enough. What if things go sideways? I can’t— I just can’t—”

No one makes a sound. Warmth envelops him from behind.

“You won’t,” Tony murmurs into his neck. “You won’t lose me.”

Steve shudders and lets himself break.

* * *

Peggy Carter’s in the next room.

Steve feels like a ghost, an outsider, watching her bustle around her office from her window. She looks happy. Healthy. Happy and healthy in a world without him.

Once, he would’ve longed for days with her. To turn back time and jumped off that plane. 

But then, brown eyes fluttering open and an invitation to dinner happened and he realized it’s okay to leave things in the past.

He’s glad she thought so too.

Fingers lace through his own.

“You okay?”

Steve’s gaze drifts away. He thinks of Tony’s smile in his compass and the Pym Particles in hand and smiles at his soulmate.

“Let’s go home.”

* * *

Their return is met with boisterous cheers.

A hand slips in his, giving it a soft squeeze. The grin Tony sends his way is blinding and beautiful.

Steve allows himself to feel hope.

* * *

“Do you ever wonder what things would be like if it wasn’t for these?” Tony asks as he traces his name on Steve’s bare chest.

Steve fails to suppress a shiver. “Not really.”

“Really?”

“Mm hmm.”

“I do. All the time.”

“Really?”

Tony nods as he sits up and buries his face in his hands.

“Tony?”

He is quiet for a long time. “You love Bucky.”

“I do.”

In the dark, Tony stills, then nods like he expects that answer, resigned and—

“You think I’m with you because of the soulmark?” Steve whispers.

“Are we even together?”

“Aren’t we?”

“Kissing and sex don’t make a relationship, Rogers,” Tony says in that cocky tone of his. The one he uses to push people away with. The one reserved for assholes and the media. “Or dinner.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Steve says. Begs. Tony can’t put a wall around him for this. Never for this.

“I mean, you were pretty adamant about getting Barnes back.”

“I love Bucky,” Steve says and his heart clenches at the sight of Tony’s flinch. “But not like that. Never like that.”

Tony looks at him in bewilderment. Again, Steve hates himself for making Tony doubt his feelings.

So he wraps his arms around Tony and pours his soul out.

“I don’t love you because fate told me to. I love you because you use your wealth and smarts to make the world better. Because you love and care deeply for the things that matter. Because you make me laugh and smile and treat me like your equal. Hell, you treat everyone as your equal, no matter what. I’ve loved you. For a long time. I’ve loved you since you fell from space. My feelings for you haven't changed. Never have changed.”

He feels Tony’s pulse quickens. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were with Pepper. I couldn’t… I couldn’t ruin that.”

Tony snorts. “Well, you probably should’ve said something.” 

Steve whips his head in alarm. 

“No, I take that back. Pepper deserves better. She always has. I don’t know why we kept going back to each when all we do is fall apart in the end. At least this soulmark bullcrap helped cement things.” Tony sighs. “You deserve better too.”

“You mean, _you_ deserve better.”

“Steve, you know who I am. I’m a war profiteer. I’ve drank and fucked and hurt innocent lives. My dad was right. I—”

“Your dad’s a fucking asshole,” Steve snaps. “You’re not that person anymore. That’s not the person you are. And I love you. For who you are.”

Tony twists his head. Even in the dark, Steve can tell they’re brown. Brown and soft and afraid.

“I love you too,” Tony says softly. “For a long time. Even before we met, I’ve been in love with you. Not with Captain America. With Steve Rogers.”

Steve pulls him down.

* * *

They get onto the platform.

“Be safe, Winghead,” Tony says.

Steve grins. “You too, Shellhead.”

* * *

This time, Nebula’s the one who delivers the final blow.

No one flinches when the head hits the ground. Neither do they react when Nebula lets out an ear-piercing scream and spits on Thanos’ headless body. It’s a long time coming.

“Do it,” Tony whispers when they’re home.

Carol nods and raises her fist in the air. The gems gleam.

She screams. Then, everyone holds onto her and screams too.

* * *

Everyone comes back to life. Not just the ones who have been dusted.

The people they’ve lost to Thanos. Loki. Heimdall. Gamora. Vision. They return too.

Portals open up on the front lawn. Familiar faces spill out, running and shouting and cheering.

They’re okay. Everyone’s okay.

When Tony kisses him later, it’s rough and heated and desperate. Like he’s thirst and ravenous. Like he’s afraid that Steve would turn to dust.

Steve slows him down. There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.

* * *

This time, Tony elects to return the Stones. 

“I’ll come with you,” Steve says immediately.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

Tony looks hesitant. “If you want to—”

“I’m not going back to the forties. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Judging by the way Tony shuts his mouth, he does.

“I don’t love Peggy,” Steve says firmly. “I don’t love Bucky either. I told you. It’s you who I love. And not just because we’re soulmates.”

Tony glances away, shame crossing his features. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Steve takes his hand in his. “I’ll just have to remind you I don’t want anyone else but you. Every day.”

Tony lets out a shaky whistle. “That’s a long time.”

Steve’s lips quirk to the side. “I don’t mind. I’ll do it. Even if it takes a lifetime.”

* * *

They arrive a couple of minutes after Thanos dies and two days before the cavalry arrives.

There’s nothing much to do, only to lay the gauntlet by Thanos’ head. It would’ve been over in seconds if Tony hadn’t fished out a sealed letter from his jacket and placed it by the gauntlet.

It’s addressed to Steve.

“Didn’t Bruce say not to do anything that could change the future?” Steve remarks.

Tony shrugs. “I mean, they’re gonna find Thanos’ body anyway. We’ve already changed their future already.”

Steve brandishes his Time-Space GPS. “What’d you write?”

Tony meets his gaze, soft and weary and all-too loving.

“The truth. That everything’s going to be alright.”

* * *

A week later, T’Challa hosts a party in Wakanda.

And as Steve watches Thor and Quill get into a rumbustious arm-wrestling match in the corner, Shuri and Peter Parker chatting animatedly in another, and Bucky and Natasha nervously glide across the dancefloor, he feels like he belongs. 

Like he’s home. Home is with the Avengers.

But then he sees Tony across the room, grinning as he converses with Carol and T’Challa and realizes that’s home too. 

Home is with wherever Tony is. It so happens to be with the Avengers too.

“Good night?” Tony asks much later when Sharon and Sam leave Steve’s side. His dress shirt’s a little rumpled and his hair in disarray and his eyes a little droopy but Steve’s chest aches at the sight.

“Yeah,” Steve says, taking a sip from his drink. “Good night.”

There’s a song playing, quiet and serene. The kind people would have their first and last dance to. The kind you lose yourself to. The kind that plays in the background when people fall in love. 

“Dance with me.”

Steve blinks. “You know I can’t… I can’t—”

Tony smiles. “That’s okay. I can teach you.”

“You don’t mind me stepping all over your toes?”

“I’d be a terrible teacher if I do.”

Steve barks out a laugh before meeting him halfway.

He lets Tony take the lead. Despite the height difference and a couple of painful missteps, it goes over well. It’s oddly calming.

“See? You’re doing so well,” Tony says, his lips brushing his ear.

Steve fails to suppress a tremor. “Only because of you.”

Tony pulls back, pink dusting his cheeks. “Uh huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Steve chuckles. They glide for another silent minute.

“I was waiting.”

Tony looks at him questioningly.

“Waiting for the right partner,” Steve amends.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Did you find them?”

Steve smiles. For the first time, his soul is quiet. At peace.

“I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can reblog this on Tumblr [here](https://kapteniron-archive.tumblr.com/post/615383519835947008/i-dont-have-a-choice-but-id-still-choose-you).
> 
> Come holler at me on [Tumblr](https://nethandrake.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kapteniron). I'd love to hear what y'all thought! :D


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